HOME

My heart sings out ~ from a dungeon deep ~ imprisoned for the lender’s crime ~ we are bound up in ~ monied ties that bind ~ My heart sings out ~ for justice’s plight ~ for a world that’s color blind ~ races unified ~ by a truth that binds ~ My heart sings out ~ to the hungry child ~ to catch their cradle ~ in a world gone wild ~ we must meet their need ~ with the ties that bind ~ [Chorus] Writing and playing in the dark I sing for you ~ bringing the news ~ distilled to an act ~

“Oh, not a logline!” It’s a common chorus, but whether you’re a: screenwriter, novelist, short story writer, or filmmaker, succinctly communicating your narrative requires the much dreaded and oft maligned logline. Keep it real! Yes, it’s marketing, but fear not. The logline need not be the unwanted stepchild of your masterpiece. Consider it as a great chef considers the amuse-bouche, or perfect bite appetizer, to tantalize taste buds, stimulate the palate, and get diners salivating for the main

When we meet to make art and discover truth, we must hurdle barricades of programmed propriety reaching into each other’s hearts for a tender tickle. No small feat when my greatest fear is that you will fear me. That little bits of our broken babes will hold back and catch us in superficial strata, separate, cringing at projected rejection. Wasting our precious seconds on polite civility, on tip-toe, never to dance. How to prove your thoughts, feelings, and interpretations are as valid to

The goddess Pele flowed into his birthday eve dream as the city filling his neighborhood’s ten worst pot-holes presented itself as his greatest birthday gift. The goddess sparked him up. Burned out thoughts that his time on her molten orb had been eventful enough. The excitement isn’t all behind me? He toyed with Matchbox cars in his mind. Of returning to early dreams of stock car racing. Then moving on to trading in the Subaru for a convertible. Not that he wanted to turn the heads

closed, shrouded, pitch and matte – locked – locks, sheared from their scalp – no bauble, glint or flash of bright – shaded eye – sealed, concealed mouth – no evidence offered for her in the moonlight – she – her own shadow ––– shock to heart and soul anew – gold dust painted to her cheek – bosom, nape of ankle and tender feet – all a shimmer, a prick of timbre – listen to her tune, a flirty swoon – sprightly steps, festooned with shells and bells – all manner of wonderment about her – hips – hi

Growing weary of this place ~ vapid space ~ my allocated cubicle. ~ Yearning to breathe free ~ nurture trees ~ my vast wilderness. ~ Sickened of this dread ~ empty bed ~ my imaginary prince. ~ Need to change society’s taste ~ endless waste ~ my gluttonous humanity. ~ Shouting for my rights ~ woman’s fight ~ my body and choice. ~ Celebrating individuality ~ sensuality ~ my unique perspective. ~ Cherish beauty in all forms ~ not the norm ~ you, my splendid sister.   See the exquisite painting

Oh, I’m doing it. It’s going to be crap, but I’m doing it. I will throw it ALL out there, because if I don’t we’ll never know if that was the golden take. And if it’s crap, at least we’ll have a baseline from which to modulate and perfect a performance. So I will be fearless. I will unleash the puke draft, the fake take to unlock the truth box. I am wide open to the possibility of magic, or at least a starting point, or whatever man. I’m doing it.  

Our kiss ~ a friendship twist ~ distilled our hearts ~ into one loving ~ mouthful of bliss. ~ Transcendental mist ~ morning sun kissed ~ can never part ~ our sweet truffle ~ entwined of arms ~ hearts and tongues ~ to couple. ~ What’s this? ~ More than a tryst? ~ Our true love start ~ should have been ~ sooner truthful. ~ Some kiss.  ~ We are real ~ stripped naked ~ unfrozen ~ of emotions ~ breathing ~ in unfaked waking ~ till our death. ~ Shed inhibition ~ rejoiced in friction ~ of our baw

All I ask is that you be fearless. Climb your highest peak and soar. Don’t worry if you don’t make the first try, the water is deep. Trust me. I believe in you. I do. You’d think I know, but how could I? It’s different every time. It’s faith and hope. Most times it’s only stone. Yet they trust me to lead, to lead, to lead the lot; to make a miracle, quake the earth, crack open granite mountains, and birth a dream. Miraculous is only so because most times there